Guardians of the Spirits
by Tobi is a good boy
Summary: When the servants of Evil threaten Middle Earth, the Guardians defend and guard the doorway between Life and Death. Glorfindel is one of these Guardians, sent back by Mandos to Middle Earth. A short viginette/ short snipet.Rated T.
1. Chapter 1

Spirit Guardian

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own Lord of the Rings

ONE

His knife easily cut through the thick copse of water reeds. This did not, however, prevent them from grasping onto his clothes, knotting the remnants of his once renowned hair. The thin barbs of the reeds cut at his exposed flesh. He winced at the brief moment of flashing pain that quickly dissipated. Water, cold and unfeeling, clung to his powerful thighs. It moved in ripples outward as he shifted forward into yet another knot of reeds.

The silver blade provided the only colour in the grey saturated landscape.

Ahead, his goal loomed.

The Door was the only noticeable landmark in this strange place.

Standing a height, no man, elf, or dwarf could hope to build, The Door stretched impossibly high, cut from obsidian that glimmered dully in this sunless and timeless place. There were runes etched onto it, runes that he somehow knew were as old as world itself, perhaps older. One of the runes was marred into obscurity by a long scratch. The sight of the destroyed rune made him nauseated and he could not bear to look at it for any length of time.

The reeds shivered and swayed as his silver knife slashed upwards, leaving the half-bent stalks of reeds in its place. The water gripped around him as he inched forward, towards the presence of the Door.

Something behind him stirred.

The reeds twisted around him, their branches hissing against his skin.

There was no wind here, the only movement was made by moving through the thick reeds.

Quickly, he slashed at another outcrop of reeds, forcing his exhausted legs through the mired water.

Ahead, the Door still loomed, out of his reach. The field of reeds stretched in every direction in his line vision apart from what could only be called the sky above, for he knew no other words to describe the flat, grey, and cloudless scene above his head.

He narrowed his blue-eyed gaze, readying his knife, the last weapon he had.

He could not remember how he had come to be in such a place as this, only that fire and pain had brought him here.

The thought of fire burned his flesh, crawling in tendrils across his breast, colouring the grey world momentarily with flame and screams. A stabbing pain thrust across his shoulder, and he cried aloud, his voice filling the soundless surroundings

A shadow rose out of the reeds, rising upwards into a hideous form created from mud and reeds. The reeds twisted into a beast, tall and thin like a tree, with powerful wiry legs and long, curled arms that rested by its sides. Its wide, curved mouth gaped open, red gleaming brightly within its gaping maw. The long, twisted claws tore at its grey face until two ruby-like eyes were revealed in its dark flesh.

For a long moment, the two stared at each other.

He shivered, feeling the twisted malevolence coming from the beast. Around him, the water reeds trembled, grazing against his sides. The beast's red eyes smiled down at him, watching him like prey twisting in a cage. It gave almost a wry grin and with long legs began striding through the grey fields with ease.

He knew with sudden clarity that the beast should not make it to the Door.

He gritted his teeth together, fighting against the pain and exhaustion within his body. How easy it would be to fall asleep, to slip away. He shook himself, seeing that the beast was already ahead of him.

It suddenly raised its long claw-like hand, staring at it with red eyes with something akin to wonder.

A tendril, created from the water reeds, slowly grew from its claw and raced through the grey field towards him.

His knife only sent sparks and pain coursing through his body.

The tendril wrapped itself tightly around his waist, burning through his flesh, dragging him unwillingly through the field towards the beast.

The beast then pulled him sharply upwards until his body laid in its open paw.

"A sacrifice is needed to open the Door again."

 _Again?_

This time with certainty, he knew why he had come here. It came to him with sudden clarity that it cleared his mind of all else. The fire rose around him, the memories of recent pain and loss with it.

 _Ecthelion's knife._

He grasped the handle of the blade within his scared hand, hiding it. The warrior had given it to him before he had passed into the Halls of Mandos, securing it tightly in his unwilling hand. He had unashamedly wept at the loss of a skilled fighter and friend, who had almost been as close as kin to him. Ecthelion's dying breath would never leave his memory, nor the elf's courage.

The beast raised him upwards, his wide maw grinning, flames licking his body. But he felt naught the pain or the torment of the flame, for he knew that his death had come. He welcomed it, embracing it close to his breast with the hope that he may see his friends once more in Valinor.

"Never again will you come through this Door!" His words rang true with the prophecy of one about to die.

The beast laughed, echoing horribly throughout the empty landscape. Its' twisted claw pierced through his chest, blood trailing out of his body onto the ground far below.

The Door remained steadfastly closed. The runes glowed, shifting and dancing on the obsidian stone, crawling with an unknown song.

Lines of blinding light cracked on the beasts' monstrous form, the blade of Ecthelion driven deep into the beast's heart.

It gave a howl of desperate anguish as it died, the body of its' prey rolling unceremoniously onto the grey field below.

The prey's blood stained the grey landscape red, until the water washed the stain away, leaving the landscape as grey as it had once been, before the events between beast and prey.

For how long the body laid in that timeless field, no one knew.

One day, a grey cloaked figure appeared, the reeds parting softly from their bare feet.

The figure knelt beside the body, pressing a long finger to the body's pale forehead.

"Arise, Glorfindel, for your need Here is not yet done."

The body slowly rose, colouring and health returning to the marred, burnt flesh. His blue eyes widened once he saw the figure before him.

"My Lady!" He exclaimed, his voice long hoarse from disuse.

The figure smiled, both with pity and grace upon their face and offered a hand to the elf.

"My husband wishes to speak to you before you return through the Door."

"Return?"

The figure spoke no more, only to raise her hand once more, drawing a door out of the landscape and beckoning the elf through with a brilliant smile.

The door disappeared, leaving the grey landscape and the silent obsidian door in its' place.

He felt as if he was walking through a tapestry, feeling each individual thread as it brushed against his skin, each thread giving off a resounding, other worldly musical note.

He was pulled through by the gentle guidance of the Lady.

Glorfindel's vision adjusted to the sudden, soft light that was akin to the gentle glow of sunlight.

A hall of pure white marble stood before him, stretching impossibly far, with plain columns supporting a ceiling that was a multi-coloured tapestry that shifted and changed with every movement.

It was more beautiful than any tapestry that Glorfindel had seen in all his years and service to Turgon, who gathered many items and things of beauty.

At the head of the Hall, his eyes were drawn to a tall figure that was so unlike the gentle presence of the grey robed Lady beside him, that Glorfindel knew immediately that he gazed upon Mandos, Lord of the Spirits.

Mandos wore a simple black woollen robe, held together by a belt that was created by thin reeds woven together. No crown or jewels adorned his brow or person, but there was both wisdom and kindness held in eyes that reminded him of the deep wells of Gondolin.

How often had he stood, gazing into their depths, questioning purpose, his service and love to Turgon?

Like the wells, Mandos's eyes offered no answers.

Hastily, he remembered his manners and bowed, as he realised that he was naked as the day he was borne. Shame burnt upon his cheeks, and he tried to cover himself hastily within the presence of Mandos.

Mandos approached him, the dark eyes boring into Glorfindel.

The Lord of Spirits bowed towards him and rose.

"We all are equal in these Halls, Glorfindel of Gondolin. Rise! Be not ashamed!"

Glorfindel quickly obeyed, his shame escaping him as fleetingly as it had come.

The Lady moved from her position to stand beside her husband, grasping his dark hand in her own slim one.

"My Lady tells me that it is not your destiny to end your days in Valinor, but to return to Middle Earth."

The Lady spoke, her voice filling the chamber, "Your thread in the tapestry has not completed its' story."

"I have foreseen your coming to my halls, so I will aid in the task that Eru has given you as befits my powers. Dragonhelm! Come forward!"

From the shadows, a tall mortal man appeared, wearing a fierce helm that gave the wearer the appearance of a dragon. An unsheathed black sword hung on his hip.

Glorfindel openly stared at the mortal, who was already the stuff of stories and tales within Gondolin.

Turin Turumbar nodded towards him with grace and elegance so alike to an Elf that for a moment Glorfindel forgot that the man was a mortal.

"My Lord?" Turin intoned.

Mandos replied with a nod of his own. "Will you aid this elf by training him in the art of arms?"

Glorfindel did not know whether to be offended by this remark. He had spent many years training and exercising his body to perfection.

Turin's black eyebrows rose in surprise: "But he is an elven warrior of Turgon!"

"I believe my husband wishes you to train him as a Guardian, as you are of this Hall."

 _A Guardian?_

As if hearing his thoughts, Mandos replied: "A Guardian of the Spirits, Lord Glorfindel. But it must be your choice to do this, for a Guardian's duty is long and arduous, often mingled with grief and loss. For the Guardians protect the Doorway between Life and Death, but also return lost souls onto my Halls."

"I understand," Glorfindel replied, "I am ready to do my duty, My Lord."


	2. Chapter 2

Guardians of the Spirits

Tobi is a good boy

I do not LOTR or the works of JRR Tolkien

TWO

Olorin set foot onto the boat, the waves crashing underneath it. For the first time, he felt chill wind across his face. His companions, emissaries like him, did not surprise him. Despite their new forms as old men, he could easily distinguish them each.

There was Curumo, whom he had no great love for, but deeply respected, as he was both courageous and wise. Aiwendil, who often spoke about his love for the small creatures of Arda, was petting a seagull idly with a finger. The other two, Alatar and Pallado, he did not know, so he offered them a courteous greeting.

"Ah, Olorin," Curumo nodded, "We may finally set out on our journey." He turned, about to give the order to the ship hands, but a clear voice rang out from the docks.

"Wait! My Lords!" An elleth, dressed in the heraldry of Turgon, ran down the platform towards the awaiting ship. She came to the stern and bowed. "There is another who wishes to travel with you!"

Curumo's thick black eyebrows rose at that, "There were only to be three at first, and then there are now five, for which the journey was set!"

"My Lord, I apologise, but he-he said it was most urgent-that-he must go on this ship-"

Curumo sighed and turned to Alatar and Pallado. "Will the ship be able to carry one more passenger?"

Alatar touched the side of the ship with a hand, "I think she'll be quite glad of another passenger. She's eager for the trip."

"Very well, tell him that he may come."

The elleth bowed and then blushed, "Well, My Lord…" She turned away from Curumo and waved down the platform. An elf, dressed in a plain dark grey cloak walked down the pathway. A hood covered his head, so Olorin could not tell who the elf was. A plain sword hung at his belt, weapons having been banned in the Valinor since the kinslaying.

The elf shook hands with the elleth, thanking her politely, and swung himself into the boat.

The four maia turned to look at the newcomer, Curumo glaring.

"You wish to come with us, elf?"

"I must, My Lord, Curumo," the elf replied.

"And will our new companion not name himself to us?"

The elf pulled down his hood, revealing gleaming, golden hair that was worn in an interwoven braid, and mismatched eyes: one deep green and the other the shade of freshly formed ice. "I was-" the elf stopped himself, "I am called Glorfindel."

Olorin remembered then: there was word in Valinor, especially in Turgon's camp, that two elves had died defeating balrogs: Ecthelion and Glorfindel. This must have been Glorfindel, then. He felt a wave of sympathy for the elf, for when their souls returned, many found it hard to deal with their pasts and how they died.

The sails filled with wind, called down by Pallado, and the ship began to move gently forward into the Great Sea.

Over the weeks that they sailed, for even Alatar and Pallado could not circumvent the storms that raged on the waters, the elf rarely spoke, but he was kind. He helped Aiwendil with the birds, cleaning their feathers with him, happy to just sit and listen as Aiwendil described in great detail the inner workings of animals. Alatar and Pallado were greatful that the youthful elf could climb the mainmast and work the lines and rigs to their requests. Curumo, while surely, eventually would grumble that Glorfindel was a hard worker. But Curumo's great annoyance was that Glorfindel refused to answer who had sent him with them.

"Was it your King, Turgon?"

"No, my Lord," replied the elf, working a fishing line that would catch fish t Aiwendil's specifications.

"Was it another elf who convinced you?"

"No, my Lord," the elf would say, and proceed to climb the foremast.

Olorin eventually grew tired of watching the poor elf be pestered with questions and he suggested to Curumo that this was the case. "Is it not strange though?"

Olorin looked at the elf, with his mismatched eyes and golden hair, and thought of his kindess and patience with them all. He shook his head. "No. Perhaps that he felt that he must come, Curumo. That this was his duty. There is nothing to question him about. He wants to come, that is all."

Curumo begrudgingly nodded, but his clever eyes always watched the elf.

One day the wind whipped up cold and chill. Olorin's teeth chattered. It was an exhilarating yet frightening experience.

"Do mortals teeth always chatter when it is this cold?" He asked Glorfindel.

Glorfindel laughed, removing his cloak and wrapping it tightly around Olorin. He was bare armed, wearing only a dark tunic with a black sash around his waist. "I did not know many mortals, Olorin, but yes, I think they do."

Olorin gazed at Glorfindel. "I think I may guess at who sent you-worry not! Nienna is to whom I serve. And the Lady takes care that I watch over those who have come back from Mandos."

Glorfindel's mismatched eyes stared at him a moment. "Yes, I believed that you may have figured it out as soon as I set foot on this ship. I do not know how long I tarried in Mandos's halls. But he has given me a duty, which I must fulfil."

Olorin patted Glorfindel with a hand. "I understand. I did not want this, yet, it is my duty, so I must serve."

From atop, Aiwendil's birds cawed. "Land! The Birds say there is land ahead!"

"We will look out for each other, you and I," Olorin said, and offered his hand. Glorfindel grinned and took it. "Yes, I believe this is what your Lady and my Lord planned."

"Who knows the plans of the great ones. We are but a small part."


End file.
